I guess it had to happen sooner or later, but I was finally involved in a car accident on the I-10. And no, it wasn’t my fault. I was driving home after a particularly stressful day at work (where I had to berate one of my direct reports for falling asleep at his desk – and I’m not really one for confrontation, so that was really tough for me), pootling along in the fast lane at just around the speed limit, when my car got hit from behind.
I pulled over onto the shoulder (thankfully they have one on the outside as well as the inside), and checked out the damage. To be fair, the damage to my car wasn’t actually too bad – the bumper took the brunt of it (which is what I guess they’re designed to do), although I also lost a light cluster. Besides, the corner that took the damage was the same corner where I have my Free Tibet sticker, which was egged (I blame the elderly Chinese woman next door), taking off some of the paint, so I guess it really needed fixing up, anyway. The other car came off significantly worse (that’s Chevrolet Cavalier one, Toyota Rav4 nil – sorry, Dave).
The other driver must have been all of about 17, and was apparently taking his girlfriend on a date – bet she was impressed. I asked him if he had insurance, and he said that it was a rental car, covered by his dad’s policy, so I’m guessing he doesn’t even have his own car, let alone his own insurance. Marvelous. I call the police, and he calls his dad. He then hands his phone to me and says “My dad wants to talk to you. He’s an Attorney.” Great opening line. Clearly the little fucker thinks he can weasel his way out of it. His dad asks what happens, and I tell him, as politely as I can (and despite the throbbing red anger behind my eyes), assuming that he’s actually concerned about the welfare of his son. Then he asks me if I’ve called the police, and when I say I have, his tone changes completely, and he asks to be put back on to his son. This is just getting better.
Despite 9-1-1 being an ’emergency response’ service, a tow-truck manages to turn up before the police do. I swear they have some kind of homing device. It’s like Mexicans and car-boot sales. Unluckily for him, both cars are still driveable, but that didn’t stop him touting for business until the police finally turned up and moved him along. I asked the officer what I should do. “Well, take the next exit, and circle back to the Whataburger…”. I thought he was maybe going to ask me to pick him something up while he completed the paperwork, but it just happened that Whataburger was the nearest parking lot and he wanted us off the road.
The other driver and I made our way to Whataburger, with the officer following close behind in case one of us made a break for the county line. Once we got there, the officer sat in his car writing up his paperwork, leaving us two drivers free to glare at each other for a while. In the meantime, the kid’s dad turns up – in his Rolls Royce! He looks at the damage to his son’s car, and then, bizarrely, gives his son a thumbs up. Maybe it’s a strange Texan father-son bonding thing – your first car crash! That’s mah boayh! I felt that maybe I should high-five someone to even things up, but there’s only the cop there and that might’ve looked a bit weird.
The kid shouts over “Don’t worry about the damage, dad – his insurance will pay for it”, gesticulating towards me. WHAT‽ I ask him how he worked that out, and he says, “Well, that was irrational driving”. “What, driving in a straight line at a constant speed??” I retort. “Well, it’s two against one!” he replies, smugly. Clearly he’s been coached by his dad – “irrational driving” (not even “you were driving irrationally”) isn’t a phrase that just pops into a 17 year-old’s head. In the meantime, the father wanders back over to see what the discussion is. I look at him and announce “Attorney or not, you’re not pinning this shit on me!”. He advises his son not to say anything else, and then proceeds to to handle all discussions with the officer himself, glad-handing, and laughing away like an old buddy. It’s difficult to be sure exactly what he’s saying as the officer has told me to go wait my my own car, out of earshot, but I’m thinking that it’s not looking good.
After a good 20 minutes (during which time the son is called back several times to provide additional information) the officer finishes with the two of them, and tells them that they can go home. I then get called to the cruiser window to give my version of events. I get as far as giving him my license details and my mobile phone number (so they can run the records and see if I was on the phone at the time of the accident) before he tells me that he has all the information he needs (and all of this without even getting out of his cruiser to inspect the damage) and that I can go. I’m just about taking this as my fate being sealed, when he beckons me closer. “I just wanted to let you know that I found the other driver to be at fault, and I’ve issued him with a citation”. Well hurrah! At last, an even break. “But you might want to be a bit more cordial with the boy’s father, in case he decides to take it to court.”
Fair do’s, but I really don’t see how he can reasonably claim that it was anything other than his son’s fault. He hit my car directly from the rear, so he must have gone into me (and not the other way round). I was in the outside lane, and there were no cars in front of me, so I wasn’t going anywhere. His driver side front corner hit my passenger side rear corner, and I was going in a straight line, so he must have veered into my lane, no matter how you look at it. And regardless of how fast I was going (which, thankfully, was not above the speed limit), he must have been going faster than I was, to hit me.
Anyway, it’s in the hands of the insurance companies, now. The worst case is that I’m down $500 on my deductible – and that’s only if my insurance company can’t get then money out of his insurance company. Of course, Attorney Asshole could choose to take it to court and try to hit me from behind for all he can (I’m sure is son is trying on neck-braces as we speak). But in the meantime, until one or the other of the loss adjusters comes and looks at my car, I’m left driving around with a busted light, and half my bumper hanging off. So now everyone else on the road will be looking at me like I’m some kind of moron who can’t drive (I assume, as this is how I look at everyone I see with a busted-up car). Maybe I could try papering over the damage with a bumper sticker that says “It wasn’t my fault!”. Or just “Back off, unless you want some, too.”. That’d work.
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